Hostage of Love
by ch19777
Summary: How would it affect Lisbon if she turned to Jane for comfort after 2x08? “She warmed to the concept of revenge when Sam Bosco's blood stained her hands red and making herself a hostage of her unconditional love for Jane surely wasn't the cure for that.”
1. And so it begins

This three-part story was written for the Jello Forever Secret Santa exchange as a gift for Nellie (NellieTheItalian).

**Title: **Hostage of Love  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Lisbon/Jane  
**Prompt:** Jane is lying and Lisbon knows why.  
**Summary:** How would it affect Lisbon if she and Jane turned to each other for comfort after the events of 2x08? "She warmed to the concept of revenge when Sam Bosco's blood stained her hands red and making herself a hostage of her unconditional love for Jane surely wasn't the cure for that."  
**Warning:** This isn't a happy story at all.  
**A/N:** This story begins right after the end of 2x08 "His Red Right Hand" and any events of later episodes are disregarded in this story, simply because I hadn't seen them yet when I wrote this. A big thank-you to my dear friend Pavla who had the "pleasure" to listen to me whining all the while I wrote this and who provided me with much needed moral support.

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**Part 1: And so it begins**

With faltering steps Lisbon walks through the nightly drizzle after the cab drops her off at her apartment. At the door she pauses for a moment to inhale deeply and to shake off a fit of dizziness. She is angry with herself about drinking so much tonight, but really – what else is there to do to numb the pain? Any other kind of solace is too complicated to even consider it.

It was one hell of a week. Not the worst she ever had, but definitely close to it. Losing people shouldn't get to her so much, after all she has a whole lot of experience with it. Before she can get any more cynical, she goes inside where neglected moving boxes and mainly empty walls stare back at her. One day she'll turn these rooms into a home. Then she won't feel so lost and strange anymore in the one place that should provide her with comfort. But not tonight, tonight she just wants to sleep and to pretend being oblivious to the events of the past days.

But as so often, she doesn't get what she wants. After a knock at her door, she finds Jane standing in front of it. With his tired eyes and wrinkled clothes he looks just the way she feels herself. She doesn't ask any questions. She isn't even surprised that he is here. He isn't unwelcome. After their brief exchange of empty phrases less than an hour ago, when she found him in semi-darkness absorbed in the study of Sam's files, she is glad that he opted against getting completely lost in the chase for Red John.

At least for tonight.

"I just..." He begins, but never finishes.

Taking a step aside, she wordlessly lets him in. The chilly air sobers her but also makes her shiver, so she closes the door and shields Jane and herself from the rest of the world. She waits for him to speak first because she can't think of anything significant to say. Her hands begin to sweat as the silence spreads out between them and threatens to swallow everything. Her mouth is dry. The seconds stretch endlessly, but she still refuses to waste any time searching for a proper conversation topic.

Jane clears his throat.

As if awoken from a trance, Lisbon lifts her head. Finally their eyes meet and refuse to sever for what seems like a very long time, before she turns away and silently guides them to the seating area.

"_He told me to look after you."_

Those words that Jane said earlier, Sam Bosco's alleged last request, danced around in her mind all night and now she wonders if they are the reason for Jane ending up at her place.

She suddenly becomes aware of the fact that Jane isn't anything like Sam Bosco. But she also realizes that while she was able to recognize, analyze and safely store away her feelings for Sam within a months after meeting him, she never even allowed herself to consciously acknowledge the presence of any feelings for Jane.

The man across from her isn't modest. He isn't even particularly nice a lot of the time. And this is ridiculous. Unbearable. It isn't natural to sit together in silence without eventually engaging in insipid small talk or breaking out in uncomfortable laughter. But still she doesn't want him to leave for anything in the world. And this is what makes this situation so unbearable: the overwhelming need to be with him.

Simply to divert her thoughts, she offers Jane a drink. But he reclines, just says no, and instead gets up to inspect her books and comment on them.

She doesn't react to his zealous mocking of her choice in reading material. It's too easy. Deliberate provocation might work with others, but not with her. Not tonight.

If she would be able to, she would laugh.

And if she was strong enough, she'd tell him to go.

And if she wasn't so afraid of the answer, she'd ask him why he is here.

But she is determined to persevere, to hide any trace of increasing nervousness.

His fingers.

His lips.

His seemingly relaxed manner.

His way of orchestrating the temptation.

He comes back, book in hand, and sits down across from her again.

She starts toying with the cross around her neck to avoid tapping her toes or twirling a strand of hair around her index finger. Jane quotes Shakespeare and she fiddles around with her cross pendant.

Instead of talking. About everything or nothing.

His eyes are blue in the dim light of her living room. Not sky-blue. Not like the sea. It's a distant blue. A chary, almost non-existent blue that doesn't match the confidence Jane tries to radiate tonight.

Lisbon stands up just to do something. She takes a few unsure steps, but stops when she notices that Jane observes her every move. The color of his eyes breaks and she feels the walls she built up so carefully crumble.

Conventions and civility.

Their status, the regulations.

This masquerade for years.

Does it matter anymore?

Lost time, unimaginable suffering.

And still, this perseverance. This miracle to resist everything, everyone, and yet to remain relatively sane.

She approaches him very slowly, already aware how world-shattering and bold her gesture is. But now it isn't a question of braveness anymore, it is an ineluctable event. The reason why he came here tonight is the same reason why she let him in.

And so it begins.

Suddenly, almost too fast, they are face to face.

Blinking made of blueness.

The delicacy of his eyelids.

Invitation.

She tries to convince herself that he isn't here merely to fulfill a promise he made at a deathbed.

Her hand touches his cheek. Her nose skims his nose.

Two mouths.

Two aspirations.

Two lives.

When she tastes the skin of his lips for the first time, she wants to believe that they are more than just the result of too much tequila combined with loneliness.

Smooth teeth.

Testy lips, half-open.

The tip of his tongue is surprisingly gentle, surprisingly urging.

Exploration.

Ardency.

Life.

She rests her head against his neck. Only now she notices that she crawled into his lap. She inhales, exhales, doesn't look at him. Their first kiss, it is over. They will kiss again, but never again for the first time.

This surprise. This confession. Her boldness. Never again.

Jane wraps his arms around her waist, lifts his head above hers. For a while he is keeping silent. Then, "Good thing I know where your bedroom is."

His struggle to carry her up the stairs and his failure to find the hook of her bra makes her grin. This imperfection, his humanness, is liberating and persuades her that inviting him into her home, her bed and her life isn't a mistake.

**TBC...**


	2. Soda Monolog

**Part 2: Soda Monolog**

Sometime, in the middle of the night, Lisbon opens her eyes. She cautiously turns around to see Jane sleep, but he isn't there. He left emptiness behind. And silence.

She is afraid that it was too much, too soon for him.

Or maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe she couldn't give him tonight what he hoped to find with her.

She holds her breath, listens if any sound breaks the silence. There, she thinks she just heard a faint noise downstairs. Slowly she sits up, then leaves the warmth of her bed. A bathrobe and darkness cover her bare body on her way down. She is sure now that Jane is still in her apartment, even though he didn't make any light.

In the kitchen, scarcely illuminated by cold moonlight, she finally finds her overnight guest. He is sitting at the table, a glass in front of him. Sparkling water, she assumes. She makes out the fizzy sound of leaking carbonic acid and all of a sudden she has the absurd idea that Jane didn't pour himself a drink because he was thirsty, but to have a source of noise to make him feel less alone in the dark.

"I didn't mean to wake you up." He says now and lifts his head.

The room is too ill-lit to see from the distance if he looks at her face. She wants to tell him that he scared her when he wasn't lying next to her, but then she also would need to explain why she got so used to his presence in her bed in such a short amount of time.

"It's okay." She says instead, still leaning against the door frame.

She likes the sound the carbonic acid still produces. Steady, strangely comforting.

Jane offers her a soda from her own refrigerator. Maybe he is afraid that his drink is lonely on the table.

Lisbon declines, but sits down on the chair next to him, even though she just wants to go back to bed and take Jane with her.

"So?" He asks and now that she is closer, she notices his tired eyes, the blue even paler than when he came to her last night.

His monosyllabic question strikes her as odd because it sounds as if _she_ escaped from his bed, as if _she_ showed up at his home. As if _she_ is the only one who is accountable.

She doesn't say anything and the fizzy sound of the soda seems to become a little quieter and weaker.

"I couldn't sleep." Jane admits.

"Why?" Lisbon asks, daring him.

"I just couldn't."

"Why?" She persists.

"Is this an interrogation?" He retorts and attempts a smile.

"Maybe." She says, in dead earnest. If he would be able to recognize the seriousness inside of her, he would be startled.

"There is too much on my mind." He tells her, lifts his glass, sets it down again, toys with it. She is fascinated by the fingerprints he leaves on the smooth surface.

"What were you thinking about when you lay awake tonight?"

He obviously didn't expect her straightforwardness, probably considers questions like that off-limits.

"About us. Me. Life." He replies accordingly vague.

She considers her next words very carefully, lets the sparkling water continue its monolog, for now. Then she decides to go flat out.

"I am always there for you."

He simply stares at her.

"Whenever you need me, I am there. Do you know that?"

He opens his mouth, but she interrupts him.

"You don't need to say anything now. You don't even need to nod. I just want you to know that we're in this together."

He opens his mouth again, closes it, even though she would let him speak this time.

"I know." His voice finally cuts through the silence.

His lips are trembling. Is he crying now? But no, it is still too early in their changing relationship to feel comfortable crying in front of each other. Only seconds later, when her own tears stream down her face, she knows that this isn't true. Maybe it is never too early for tears, especially if they are true. Absolutely silent, they sit at the table with their elbows slightly touching and share their tears. She is convinced that sometimes tears speak louder than words anyway.

Endless minutes later, they are back in her bed and Jane closes his eyes as if to prove to her that her words made a difference.

"Did you love Bosco?" He mumbles without looking at her.

She thinks about his question, ponders how much of the truth he can take tonight. Telling him that she didn't is one option, but it would be a lie. In the end she settles for a fact she realized a long time ago.

"It wasn't meant to be."

They remain silent, spread out next to each other. Her hand touches his wrist, his palm covers her thigh, both indulging in each others small gestures of closeness, gentleness and respect. They tried to talk, but now they don't want to anymore, don't want that any mention of the outside world taints their togetherness. Instead they dare to be quiet and motionless, to be naked without feeling obligated to sleep with each other. Because now that the first step is made, they have time. They share a secret understanding that their relationship isn't limited to receiving and giving lust.

One hour later she is still awake and watches over him as he finally drifts off to sleep. Reaching out for him to shyly caress his hair and ward off evil dreams, she wonders if she will ever be enough to console him. In this moment, she prays for one thing: She never wants to take the sight of his sleeping figure next to her for granted.

Then she closes her eyes as well and much later, when the sparkling water on the nightstand relapses into silence, she falls asleep as well.

**TBC...**


	3. The stuff in between

**Part 3: The stuff in between**

Standing at the window, she stares out into the night, wondering where Jane's loneliness lead him. She is certain that he is lonely, because she feels the same way. During the last three weeks she felt more alone than she ever thought possible.

Once upon a time, she was content. Day after day, week after week, month after month of blissful togetherness passed and eventually she dared to believe in a happy ending for her and Jane. Neither of them showed any severe signs of fear of commitment. They never talked about the people they lost or the misery they suffered before they started building a new life together. After a while, she was able to persuade herself that they left the past behind for good and that talking about it would only be hindering. And still she always had this fear at the back of her mind. It all seemed too easy and she was secretly afraid that one day the past would rear its ugly head again.

So she should have been prepared for the happenings five days after their first anniversary, but they nevertheless unhinged her. Everything she achieved - all her plans for the future - were at stake, when a new smile painted in blood appeared on a wall above the massacred bodies of a woman and her little daughter after one year of fallacious safeness.

At first her fears seemed to be ungrounded as Jane appeared strangely unaffected by the case. He still smiled, he slept at night, he continued living their usual everyday life. Little did she know that the changes in his behavior were only so insignificant that they failed to warn her. During the investigation of the latest Red John case Jane hardly provided the team with any clues and he didn't come up with any theories at all. She interpreted his lack of interest and refusal to get involved as a form of self-protection.

Then he started acting less subtly and carefully and she became suspicious. If it would have been any other man behaving like that, all signs would have suggested an affair. Ending phone calls when she entered the room. Sudden changes of schedule. Returning home late all the time. But she knew immediately that she didn't compete with something as palpable and vincible as another woman. Their relationship was threatened by an obsession that took possession of Jane years ago.

By the time she discovered what was really going on with him, he had already lied to her several times, willingly withheld information and unjustifiably authorized research. Jane always knows how to lure people to get from them what he wants. Hardly anyone can resist him. She thinks that it is kind of ironic that he and his nemesis have that skill in common.

Either way, Jane's abilities earned him a name hastily scribbled on a post-it note, the alleged identity of the man who killed his wife and daughter. And even though he shared that knowledge with her meanwhile and despite the fact that tracking down the suspect proved impossible so far, Lisbon is convinced that Jane is still always a step ahead of her.

There should have been serious consequences for Jane's misconduct, but instead she believed that warning him and loving him would be enough to get him back on track. When he mistook the talk they had as a carte blanche for his revenge plans, she made the mistake of not setting the record straight. She deceived herself that it was enough to watch over him until the fateful day would come when it would be her task to save him from himself.

So she kept silent, when he again and again told her lies. She never said anything, when he pretended to meet a friend who they both knew didn't exist. Not once she commented on his made-up errands that he suddenly had to run in the middle of the night.

Knowing him long enough to be able to look underneath his charming exterior, she doesn't fall for his excuses and lies. At the same time she is sure that he knows she figured him out and that he is also aware of the surveillance she arranged to keep an eye on him. However, they both silently agree to keep up the pretense of normalcy and to engage in an inane, dangerous charade.

Lisbon believes that he lies to her only to protect her. Maybe he takes Sam's last request a little to serious. She hopes that he also acts that way out of love for her, but on her bad days she is convinced that he doesn't even consider her feelings or their life together at all when he makes his decisions and that he is simply being selfish. A moment later, she is so filled with love for him that she puts up with everything he does without questioning it the slightest.

Two souls are dwelling inside of her, battling for superiority and most of the time she isn't even able to decide which one she wants to win. She can't deny though that her view of life slowly started to change after Bosco's death.

Sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning she isn't sure anymore if putting Red John behind bars is really the ultimate solution. Would locking him up suffice to heal the wounds of the past? Would the strains of a long trial be even bearable? She isn't only worrying about Jane's salvation, but also about her own. Being a cop, she shouldn't even have thoughts like that, but sometimes she can't help wondering if Jane's striving for revenge is more honest than her rationality.

Staring out into the night, she is looking for the moon or the stars, for warmth, but out there is only the cold, yellow neon light of a street lamp. She shivers. Jane is gone far too long already.

But if something would be wrong, Cho – who is on Jane surveillance duty right now – would have informed her. For a split second she considers calling Cho off and letting Jane get it over with, but then the ringing of the phone makes her jump and she nervously hurries to answer it.

"I lost track of him." Cho pants out words, not even waiting for her greeting.

Her heart leaps into her throat and leaves her speechless.

_He will do it tonight._

She always hoped that this day would never come, even though she knew that they were inevitably heading for disaster.

Unsuccessfully she struggles to retain her composure and to get the situation under control.

"Lisbon?" Her friend saves her from breaking down.

"I'll take care of it." She says after taking a deep breath and then hangs up on him.

Still clutching the phone, she cleans the fogged-up window with the sleeve of her shirt. If only she could wipe away the past just as easily. Jane is out there now, all alone when she should be with him.

Abruptly she turns away and goes over to the refrigerator to get the bottle of white wine she bought for dinner tonight. Earlier there wasn't even time for uncorking it because Jane scarfed down her home-cooked meal and then left to "meet some buddies". Now she opens the bottle and pours herself a glass, then another. It tastes corky, but it suffices to calm down her agitated heartbeat.

Additionally, it gives her a pathetic excuse for not getting into her car and driving around looking for Jane.

She tries to smother the bitter grief that percolates inside of her. There is no reason for crying, dammit. The world won't stop turning tonight, it is only her mere existence that is at stake. One last time she tries to convince herself that she must find him to bar him from ruining his life and thereby hers, then she surrenders.

There was a time when she would have arrested Jane without hesitation had he only looked askance at Red John, but she clearly isn't the same woman anymore. She warmed to the concept of revenge when Sam Bosco's blood stained her hands red and making herself a hostage of her unconditional love for Jane surely wasn't the cure for that.

Sitting at the table, she waits for the inevitable and refuses to think about what she will do when Jane comes home. That is, if he comes back to her at all.

At dawn, lying motionless in bed, she hears him slipping into the room. He makes an effort to evoke no noise and she wonders how he can even assume she is able to sleep in a night like this. She delays alerting him to her waking state, just to be able to enjoy some last minutes of blissful uncertainty. As long as she doesn't know for sure that Jane killed tonight because she let him, she can still pretend that everything is fine.

In the end he beats her to it and turns on the light. After her eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, she notices no blood on his hands. There isn't any on his clothes either. But then, as soon as she looks into his reddened eyes, she knows that the deed is done.

"_When I catch Red John, I'm gonna cut him open and watch him die slowly, like he did with my wife and child."_

Suddenly she perceives all things at once – the coldness of the room, the dark circles around Jane's eyes, his trembling hands, her own hammering heartbeat. She feels faint as some life-destructive mental pictures obtrude themselves upon here. Jane's face deformed by a state of murderous frenzy. The brief reflection of his eyes - filled with disgust, gratification and a little bit of uncertainty - in the blade he raises. Jane turning euphoric after his nemesis drew his last breath. His disillusion as the rush of adrenalin subsides and he realizes that his wife and daughter are still dead and he doesn't feel nearly as satisfied as he imagined he would.

In the eyes of the man across from her, Lisbon now discovers a semblance of insanity and she becomes painfully aware that their life together is over. She turns away brusquely, unable to bear his sight any longer. But she also wants to hide her uncontrollable sobbing, doesn't want him to see her grimace of overwhelming grief. Nor the admission of her own guilt.

"I did it also for you." He tells her in a hoarse voice, apparently reading her overspilling emotions as an accusation.

"And for Bosco." He continues when she remains silent. "He wanted me to do it."

The words make her cringe, but at the same time she knows that Jane is telling the truth. She always suspected that Jane didn't tell her everything about the last conversation he had with Sam. But there have been so many lies, so many truths that they kept from each other, that this one falsehood shouldn't get to her that much.

"He did _not_ want that." She defends her dead friend.

"Yes, he did. He told me to not arrest Red John, but to kill him."

"He told you to look after me, that's what you said." Lisbon pleads, even though her heart already accepted Jane's words as the truth.

"He also told me that you wouldn't be keen on the idea of revenge and that it would be best to keep you out of it, but that in the end you would understand that it is better that way."

A single tear reproachfully flows down her cheek. She gets out of bed, almost at a crawl. Like an injured animal, a wounded soldier. Once on her feet, she staggers a little. Her head is spinning. Rain drops are bursting at the window pane. Barefoot she walks over the worn carpet, traverses the room until she is standing in front of him.

She wraps her arms around him and he responds, holds her almost too tight. He doesn't even smell anymore like he used to. Nothing remains as before. But she is still his. She belongs to him for all eternity.

"I wanted him dead." She confesses, breathes the words against the skin of his neck.

"Will you arrest me now?" He asks hoarsely, free of emotion.

She wants to be able to answer with a simple "Yes" or "No". This should be easy: She is a cop, she doesn't let people get away with murder. But she is also a woman in love who is sensible of the fact that she is an accessory to Jane's crime. Here and now, she isn't able to make a decision. She just wants to ignore the cruel reality. He strokes her hair and still feeling so safe in his arms seems right and wrong at the same time. When they stumble toward the bed, she knows that she can never again be truly happy with him, no matter how she decides tonight.

They don't kiss. They simply don't dare to. Her head is resting on his chest and her tears seep through the shirt she got him for his last birthday. It hurts so much to know that their time is running out. On one side there are their spiritual kinship, their laughter, their love. On the other side there is a yawning abyss that threatens to destroy everything they have.

She doesn't want to lose him, she wants to be able to embrace him whenever she feels like it. She wants to laugh with him if she's happy and cry with him when she's sad. She never wants to miss him. Everything else is dispensable. She can live without his kisses, without sex, but the thought of being without him completely is unbearable. Not seeing him every day, not falling asleep next to him every night, the loneliness without him – that is what scares her to death. But at the same time she knows that Red John will always stand between them, now that he is dead even more than ever. When exactly did she go so astray that she decided to let it end this way?

She doesn't want either or. She wants the stuff in between. Maybe, deep inside of her, she already made up her mind, but she refuses to deal with it. Tonight, she is still too much stuck in the memory of her life with Jane. Without him, she wouldn't be herself. Without her, he wouldn't be himself.

"You once told me that we're in this together." He reminds her, as if reading her thoughts, and her face pressed against his shoulder she nods amid tears.

"Show me." Lisbon whispers.

He blankly stares at her.

"The body." She specifies.

Maybe she needs to see with her own eyes what Jane did in order for her to do the right thing. He hesitates, then nods.

Looking bashfully at the ground like two strangers after a one-night stand, they get up. She sees the bed between them, warm and full of memories. She hopes that it will never get as cold as the carpet underneath the soles of her feet. Whether they ever again will warm it up together, that's one thing she isn't sure of. But it will always stand their in her bedroom as a constant reminder of the best time of her life.

A little more than a year.

A beginning and now - probably, maybe - the end.

So much time together in between.

When she looks at him, Jane averts his gaze and flees downstairs. Quickly she gets dressed, grabs her gun and badge. Then, as an afterthought, she adds her handcuffs to her cop gear. Following Jane, Lisbon slips out of the apartment into the apparent normalcy of this rainy December day.

She will decide later if she'll use her handcuffs.

**The End**


End file.
